CHAPTER 22: GRILLED

"It's always a messy business, sending boys into battle," Air Marshal Woodhouse said. "Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, that's bad enough, Papa Bear. But a boy this young? It's unthinkable."

"I recognize that, Sir, and I don't take it lightly," Colonel Hogan replied. "But as I mentioned, Sir, in this case, the boy in question volunteered."

"Yes, at fourteen, the age at which boys know absolutely everything," Woodhouse scoffed. "Papa Bear, he was not able to make a sensible choice. It's disgraceful that we're just learning about this situation."

Hogan let out a deep breath and exchanged a look with Kinch, who was quietly monitoring the transmission. This was not going well. Air Marshal Woodhouse was known to be a stubborn man. Less than five minutes into their discussion, he seemed to have made his mind up. Whatever you do, Hogan told himself, don't contradict him. Don't use the word "but."

"I don't disagree, Panther," Hogan allowed. "And we can't change the past. The question is what to do with him going forward, and I want him to stay. He's been extremely valuable to our efforts, and I expect he will continue to be."

"He should be home with his father and mother," Woodhouse said. "It's shocking that they haven't demanded it."

"I can understand why you, as a father, would say that," Hogan said diplomatically. "Rupert's upbringing has been very difficult, though. He feels he's better off in the RAF, Sir, and he says his mother agrees. And his father, well… according to Rupert Bear, his father is an unfavorable influence," Hogan said.

"Meaning what?" Woodhouse said.

"He's a criminal," Hogan said.

"Yes, well so is Rupert Bear. What would you expect?" Woodhouse replied sharply.

Hogan was stunned. Was that really how Woodhouse saw Newkirk? Perhaps he didn't understand Newkirk's role on his team as well as Hogan supposed he did. Don't contradict, he reminded himself. Don't contradict.

"Panther, I think there's another way of looking at him. It's true that Rupert Bear has a past. He was, unfortunately, corrupted as a young child. He acquired his skills because his father exposed him to criminal elements. That is not who this boy – this young man – is," Hogan said. "He is highly intelligent and able to think on his feet. He's committed to our mission, and he's deeply loyal. As an airman, he has served with distinction, and he's survived treatment and conditions that would have crushed a lesser man. He's a soldier. We may not like the circumstances under which he became one, but he is one."

"But his age, man!" Woodhouse objected.

"He'll be of age in a few months," Hogan replied. "Panther, I am not asking to continue having him serve on missions while he's under age. I'm asking to keep him here until he can serve. I'll take personal responsibility for his well-being." He added another twig to the fire: "Explaining his departure presents significant difficulties."

"You're a clever man, Papa Bear. I hardly think that's an obstacle," Woodhouse snapped.

Hogan shook his head; he'd hold fire on this point for now, but Woodhouse was wrong. Ruining Klink's perfect escape record was out of the question; palming him off on another camp was just as risky, because Klink knew exactly who he was, and despite appearances to the contrary, Klink was no fool.

The line went quiet, and Hogan heard Woodhouse huffing and thumbing through pages in Newkirk's file. Whether he was angry or something else was anyone's guess. When the Air Marshal finally spoke, he sounded calmer.

"You say the home life is not stable?" Woodhouse said, rustling the papers. "Ah, I see," he continued. "In and out of approved schools. Only 10 when he went in, dear God. The file says … surrendered as 'ungovernable' by his father." He put the papers down. "Ungovernable," he spat. "What sort of father says that? Is he ungovernable, Papa Bear?"

"He is not, Sir. He follows orders. He listens to me and works well on a team," Hogan said.

"Really, Papa Bear? Does he have any shortcomings at all? Or do all the model soldiers spring from poor, negligent families after they've been packed off for a few years in an approved school? Perhaps we're overlooking an obvious source of future leaders." Hogan could hear the sarcasm dripping from Woodhouse's voice.

"Of course he has shortcomings," Hogan said. "He smokes too much and his spelling is terrible. He bites his fingernails and he argues with his friends over inconsequential things. He's not perfect; no one is."

"Yes, it sounds like he's seventeen," Woodhouse said with a bitter laugh. Hogan could hear him fiddling with the papers again. "And he's got a stammer—how bad is that?"

"It doesn't interfere with his work if that's what you're asking, Panther," Hogan replied.

"That's good, but it's not what I asked," Woodhouse said.

Honesty was the best policy; Hogan was confident of that. "He does stammer, and it's fairly frequent. He's more fluent when he is with our team. His speech difficulties are more pronounced with others or when he's anxious about something," he explained.

"Well, don't you consider that an issue with Jerry?" Woodhouse exclaimed.

"Rupert is fluent in German and he doesn't stammer when he speaks it," Hogan said.

"Extraordinary," Woodhouse said.

"I'm told that's quite common, actually," Hogan replied. "He is working hard to overcome the stammer."

"And it's never interfered in the field?"

"Not a single time," Hogan said confidently.

"It's never given him away?" Woodhouse asked.

"Not at all, Sir," Hogan replied.

Woodhouse went quiet. Then he said firmly, "I want to speak with him myself, Papa Bear."

Hogan didn't need to wave to Kinch to go get Newkirk. He was already on his way up the ladder.

XXX

Newkirk arrived in the radio room in the tunnel, sleepy eyed and dressed for bed. He sat shivering in his nightshirt on a stool until Hogan grabbed a blanket from the supplies they kept in the tunnels for visitors and wrapped it around his shoulders. Kinch cut the microphone for a moment as Hogan explained what was happening.

"It's Air Marshal Woodhouse," he began.

"Kinch already told me," Newkirk replied. He smiled as bravely as he could, although inside he was shaking, and not from the cold. Peter Newkirk didn't speak to Air Marshals every day and he knew without being told that the stakes were high. "Best foot forward," he said.

Hogan smiled back. He really did have a good team. "Exactly." He nodded to Kinch, who switched the mic back on.

"Panther, I have Rupert Bear for you."

"Very good, Papa Bear," Woodhouse replied. "Rupert," he continued, "I have a boy your age. He's at school, not at war. Why shouldn't you be at home with your mother?"

"I'm s-s-supporting myself and helping to support the family, Sir," Newkirk replied.

"You could do that at home, young man," Woodhouse said.

"P-perhaps I could now, but three years ago I couldn't. N-n-not honestly, anyway," Newkirk replied. "I was on a bad path at home, Sir. J-j-j-joining up gave me a chance to better mmmmyself."

"You're stammering. Am I making you nervous?"

"A bit, Sir, but I st-stammer whether I'm nervous or not. It j-just happens," Newkirk replied.

"Don't you want to come home and see your mother?"

"I'd like to see my mum, b-but no, Sir, I want to stay and do my job. I don't w-want to come home," Newkirk replied.

"Why's that? Are you afraid of something? Or someone?"

Newkirk winced at the question, but he saw Hogan nodding at him. "Just tell him," he was mouthing.

"Yes, Sir, I am afraid of someone. I'm afraid of my old mmman. He's cruel to me, Sir, and that's a fffact. But that's not the main reason I w-want to stay. Sir, I w-want to help us defeat the enemy, and I know I can. And I w-want to be a b-better person than my father raised me to be. I w-want to stay with mmmmy mates. And, and, and Papa Bear," Newkirk replied. "I'll see me mum and my sisters and brothers after w-w-w-we win this war."

"You have brothers?" Woodhouse asked. His loss of his eldest son—and its impact on his younger sons—was fresh on his mind.

"Two little ones, yes Sir. I w-want this over before they have to fffight."

"Hmm. How old are they?"

"Thirteen and eleven, Sir," Newkirk replied.

Woodhouse sighed. "They're very young, Rupert Bear. They need their older brother. Give me back to Papa Bear."

"Sir, yes, Sir." Newkirk handed the headset over to Hogan, looking dispirited. He knew his brothers needed him; that was never in question. The only question in his mind was where he could be most useful, and knew the right place for him was here in Stalag 13.

As Colonel Hogan continued his conversation with the Air Marshal, Kinch walked Newkirk over to the ladder to send him back up.

"Did I s-s-say something wrong, Kinch?"

Kinch wrapped an arm around Newkirk's shoulder.

"No," he said, "that was perfect. You told him honestly what you were thinking. That's all you can do."

Newkirk looked at Kinch for reassurance, and found it in the warmth of his smile. "Go on, get up there. We'll be along soon," Kinch said softly.

As Kinch watched Newkirk climb away, his mind swam with memories of all the missions their youngest team member had successfully completed, and all the ways his quick thinking and nimble fingers had kept them out of a jam. Then he turned and walked over to the table where Hogan was concluding his conversation. He concentrated on keeping his back straight and shoulders back. It wouldn't do to let the Colonel see him slumping.